a dollop of jelly is all it takes when you’re young

This spring I put a dollop of jelly on the outside of my window between the glass and the screen and I’m going to tell you why.

I resent flies.

I could lie and say it’s not because they have wings, but it is.

But it’s more than that.

They have wings and no responsibilities. They can fly anywhere they want, any time they want.

Fuck them.

So I put a dollop of jelly on the outside of my window between the glass and the screen and wait. Wait for the young flies to fly by and then wriggle through the screen to investigate.

I know flies normally buzz but when they get a taste of the jelly they seem to buzz even more enthusiastically. Buzzz. You know how young flies get.

Some of them chow down, take the win and then wriggle back out through the screen, off to their next adventure. But there are some that just hang around and keep eating the jelly.

Unaware of how fast a young fly grows.

How time flies.

A few days later, when they have tired of the taste of jelly they try to wriggle through the screen only to find that they are too big.

They can’t escape. Good and stuck.

A few days later the jelly is gone and I get to watch them fly around inside my window ruing their poor decision. There is nothing like the sound of trapped fly. It’s like the soundtrack to regret.

So I pull up a chair and watch these stupid fucks buzz and struggle and fly against the glass again and again and and then finally die.

But not before one of them looks at me with their twelve thousand and two eyes, which makes it 30,000% more poignant, and asks why.

“You got greedy” I say.

“Even worse, I was comfortable” it replies.

“And you paid dearly for it.”

“So I’ll die here and you’ll die inside there. No difference” it buzzes.

“I’m not trapped, you are” I counter.

“I was tricked by you, you’re the reason I’m here. You’re stuck there by choice, which makes you the reason you’re trapped there. Much worse.”

“I can leave any time I want” I thunder.

“But you won’t” it buzzzes back.

“FUCK YOU!” At least fourteen billion and two compound eyes glisten and taunt, all green and shiny and infuriating. It’s all I can do not to kick out the window.

The fly just sits there so I continue. “It’s not my fault.” My voice cracks as I say it.

“Of course it is. We both made mistakes and we’re both stuck and this is where we’re both going to die.” It was the resignation in its buzzing that resonated.

“Fuck you” I say again, this time the fight has gone out of me. I try to say “It’s not my fault” again, but the words don’t make it out.

The next morning I open the window so only one of us has to die here, but it’s too late.

No point in apologizing to a fly corpse, so I go downstairs and make some toast.

With a dollop of jelly.

So fucking oblivious that I completely miss the irony.

I buzz a little as I eat, the soundtrack of regret.

If I had told this in cursive I would have never picked up the pen.